


Relax (don't do it)

by khasael



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Community: hd_relief, HP: EWE, Hate Sex, Hogwarts Eighth Year, M/M, Potions, Wall Sex, potions accidents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-07
Updated: 2011-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-23 12:47:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/250464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was only a matter of time before Harry's inability to remember Potions information got him in trouble... although some sorts of trouble are a lot more pleasant than others.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relax (don't do it)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NurseDarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NurseDarry/gifts).



> Written for NurseDarry for LJ's HD_Relief 2011 round benefiting victims of the Japan tsunami. She asked for both angry!sex _and_ the inclusion of long, sweet kissing.

Coming back to Hogwarts hadn't been at all what Harry'd expected. In fact, if it hadn't been for Kingsley insisting he'd be much better off finishing his education before beginning the process of training for the Auror squad, Harry would have just dived right in. But in a talk in which Harry still wasn't certain wasn't Hermione controlling the Minister through _Imperio_ , Kingsley had laid out the challenges he'd face if he didn't go back with the handful of his classmates to finish their final year of school.

Harry trudged through the corridor towards the Potions classroom, grumbling to himself, but at least thankful that the Eighth Years only had formal instruction for half of their time, left to themselves (and occasionally, one of the professors) for independent studies. It was no secret that some of them needed help in certain areas more than others. No one, for example, was going to suggest Harry needed extra lessons in Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Potions, on the other hand...

It had been clear from the first week, when they'd done basic assessment exams, that Harry had learned very little that stuck from all Snape's handwritten notes to his old textbook. He could do work that was passable, but only just. And without Hermione slicing and stirring next to him, his own potions were fairly lacklustre, if they weren't plain wrong.

And unfortunately for Harry, potions knowledge was a fairly important part of the Aurors' practical exams. It wasn't all defensive and offensive spells, and trying to think like a Dark Wizard. Damn it.

For the third time this week, Harry'd signed up to use the Potions classroom for the last possible time slot. No one else wanted to do their studying this late, save Hermione, and she was probably holed up in the library, Ron beside her and stroking her calf with his foot. Harry had long given up on sitting there with them. She wasn't any good for conversation, and when he wasn't making a half-hearted attempt at studying, Ron usually had his hands on his girlfriend. How Hermione managed to study _and_ flirt at the same time was beyond him.

Harry had scarcely got his things set up at one of the tables, text book, cauldron, vials and knives and mortar and pestle all arranged the way he liked, when the door at his back opened and someone else stood in the doorway. "What is it? Can't you see I'm working?" He didn't care if he snapped it. He was signed up for this time. The list was next to the blackboard, for anyone to see.

"And what do you think _I'm_ doing here?" a haughty voice snapped back. "Stalking the hallways for fun?"

Harry bristled. Malfoy. "I signed up for this time period, Malfoy, so perhaps you should go and find something else to do. Practise preventing someone taking your wand, perhaps?" It was a low blow, and Harry knew it. Besides, if he _hadn't_ overpowered Malfoy back at the Manor, would he even have won the war?

"Very funny, Potter. I have a note from Professor Slughorn, specifically stating that I have permission to use this classroom, though I wasn't on the signup sheet. But that doesn't mean you have to leave. Unless you don't want to face an example of just how bad you are at Potions, compared to someone with actual competence."

Harry gritted his teeth and let out a long breath through his nose. He could throw a fit, yes, but McGonagall wouldn't hesitate to give him detention if she felt he deserved it, saviour to the wizarding world or not. "Fine. We'll _both_ work in here. Just, you stay on your side of the classroom over there, on that side of the professor's desk."

"I can't imagine any earthly reason for me to come over to your side of the room, Potter. I have everything I need. Including, as you'll notice, the supply cupboard."

Harry glared. "Obviously, that's not included in the division."

"Oh, look who's changing the line of demarcation after the fact," Malfoy said with an irritating little smirk. Harry wondered if that was the only expression he ever made. "Fine. I can be gracious to our beloved, Potions-challenged saviour. You may cross the line over to my side to get your things."

Harry waited for Malfoy to enter the cupboard and threw the dirtiest look he could muster in that direction. Spoiled little self-righteous prat. Harry had testified on behalf of the Malfoys, but apparently, none of them cared. Narcissa had been the only one to actually acknowledge the fact, with a very quiet, stiffly polite thank you the day after the Malfoy family had been acquitted.

Thankfully, the potion Harry had chosen to work on tonight was one that required quite a lot of attention, which meant he did not have to waste much energy on Malfoy. It did not, however, mean that he could ignore him completely.

On his side of the room, Malfoy made little humming noises as he chopped ginger roots, whistled as he crushed sweet basil, and murmured to himself as he stirred. When he actually started talking to the contents of his cauldron, coaxing it to turn a particular shade of green, the nut Harry had been trying to pry into slipped from out his fingers and flew onto the floor, as the knife sliced into his hand.

"Ow, _fuck_ ," Harry muttered, immediately popping his finger into his mouth to soothe the pain. Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw the other boy staring at him. Malfoy looked horrified. "What?" he said, around his injured finger. "Your fault I cut myself, anyway, with your ridiculous noises."

"Potter," Malfoy whispered, still staring at Harry's mouth. "Weren't you working with hazelnut, grown in moonstone-infused soil?"

"Yeah, so wh...?" Oh, fuck. There was a damned _reason_ Harry was going to fail his potions exam, and barely pass his Herbology one. He yanked his finger out of his mouth, already knowing it was too late. "Don't suppose you have a bezoar handy?"

"Even if I did, and even if I could be persuaded to share, it wouldn't do you any good. You've not been poisoned. You're just an idiot who dosed himself with an inhibition reducer. Really, given our history, I should be the one panicking."

Harry noticed that Malfoy did indeed have his wand firmly in hand, whatever was simmering away in the cauldron on the table forgotten. "I think you're fine," he said slowly. "I mean, I really don't like you, but I'm not going to...to..."

"Not going to what?"

That was a much harder question to answer than it should be, as it turned out. "Not going to kill you?"

Malfoy tightened his grip on his wand and took a few steps away. "Oh, that's comforting, coming as a question. Especially when you think about how you've very nearly done that before, without actually meaning to."

"Hey!" Harry said, feeling a bit affronted. "That was…before. And I don't feel like killing right now, as it happens. I feel..." Well, damn, he actually didn't know. He _did_ know whatever Malfoy had bubbling away smelled good, though. It was a nice change, for a Potions lab.

"Feel what? You're not going to tell me you're not actually angry at me? Because I have to tell you, Potter, I'm not like everyone else. I'm not going to fall all over myself in your presence, simply because I want to get in your pants."

Malfoy clapped a hand over his mouth and glared accusingly at his cauldron. Harry took a moment to work that one out. Nope, not even a moment would do. "What?"

"Nothing. You're obviously under the influence of something, and not yourself. Can't trust your ears right now. Besides, Potter, nothing changes the fact that you're a pompous prick who got lucky at all the right times."

"So what if I am?" Inhibition reducer be damned, this was an appropriate response. "It doesn't change the fact that I still stood up for what I knew was right, and I didn't chicken out when it came to the things I _had_ to do, now does it? Besides, everything I did, well, it wasn't just for me. It wasn't even just for the people I loved. It was for bloody _everybody_ , Malfoy, and that includes you and your loser father."

Malfoy was pale, with the exception of two hectic spots of pink high on his cheekbones. "Oh, so that's what you think, is it?"

"Yeah, and I don't need to be under the influence of treated hazelnut to say it, either." His legs moved him across the room, towards the other boy, even without him consciously directing them. "And you know what, Malfoy? That's not all I think about you. I think you're selfish and spoiled and you wouldn't know how to love someone if your life depended on it!"

Though he had been slowly moving backwards, towards the door, Malfoy stopped. "You have _no idea_ what I'm capable of feeling," he snapped. "Not that you'll ever know. I wouldn't tell you if you were the only one around to hear my dying words."

Fed up, Harry reached forwards and pressed his fingers against Malfoy's mouth, succeeding in inserting two of his fingers. "Oh? Well, let's see you resist _that_. Maybe now you'll talk to me civilly."

Malfoy spat out his fingers, wiping at his mouth with a shaking hand. "It's not Veritaserum, Potter. And trust me, you're really going to regret doing that."

"Oh?" Harry threw back. "Why's that? Think you can actually overpower me? Throw me to the ground?"

Malfoy looked at him with eyes that didn't seem right. "Something like that, perhaps." He flicked his wand at the door behind them and it slammed shut. Harry heard the lock slide into place. Fuck.

Instead of retreating as he had been, Malfoy picked his way though the aisles and made for Harry slowly and deliberately. Harry forced himself to hold his ground. He would _not_ run away from Draco Malfoy. In fact, he rather wanted to move towards him. So he did.

"What now, Malfoy?" Harry asked, his voice little more than a whisper. They were close — so close. The last time Malfoy'd been this near, he'd been lying to his aunt about knowing if it was Harry through the swelling of a stinging jinx. "Going to hex me? Break my nose again?"

"No," Malfoy breathed. "There's something else I'd rather do." And much to Harry's surprise, Malfoy reached out a hand, stained with the red berry he'd been crushing in his mortar, and touched his fingertip lightly to Harry's lower lip.

Harry's mouth tingled instantly, and suddenly there was a spreading heat making its way down Harry's chest and torso. Whatever it was Malfoy'd been working with tasted _divine_. He turned his face towards the other boy's still-raised hand and bit lightly at it before he got hold of himself. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he managed.

Malfoy coloured deeply. "Nothing you don't appear to want, by your reaction to mistletoe." He moved closer, so close now that Harry could feel Malfoy's breath on his cheek. "And remember, Potter, no matter what you started, I still think you're an utter arse."

Before Harry could even phrase a proper retort, Malfoy'd pressed him up against the wall. Harry found that instead of shoving him away, his hands tangled himself in Malfoy's robes and tried to pull him closer. "Good. Because I fucking hate you."

"For everything I did in the war, right?"

It was that, but it wasn't. "For being arrogant, for being prejudiced, and for being so fucking cowardly but refusing to ask for help."

"Oh, and you'd have given it? If I'd come to you in sixth year and told you I was scared out of my mind, that I was given the option to do something horrible or lose everyone I cared about, you'd have reached out with open arms and welcomed me in?" Malfoy's eyes flashed with something that was mostly anger, which Harry understood, and something that wasn't, which he didn't.

The maddening thing about Malfoy's accusation was that it was _accurate_. No, Harry probably wouldn't have. He knew that now. So he was imperfect. He'd been a fucking child thrust into war to save a world he'd discovered not all that long before. And Malfoy'd rubbed him up the wrong way, ever since that first day he'd opened his mouth against Ron. "I don't know!" Which wasn't true. He did know; he just couldn't bear to admit it aloud.

"There's a lot you don't know!" Malfoy said roughly. "A lot others could teach you."

Harry snapped. He shoved Malfoy away with one hand, pulling him back clumsily with the other, loving the startled look on his opponent's face. And then he had one hand through the buttons on Malfoy's robes and running over the skin at Malfoy's torso, and Merlin help him, he _liked_ it.

So, it appeared, did Malfoy.

Malfoy's grey eyes went wide, and he bit down on his lip so hard Harry thought he'd soon see blood running down Malfoy's chin. "I _knew_ it," Malfoy whispered, reaching a hand up and cupping the back of Harry's head.

Harry shook him off, ducking his head and biting Malfoy's shoulder through his robes, eliciting a hiss. Inhibitions, he was realising, did more than keeping one from doing things he knew he shouldn't do; they also kept one from doing things he hadn't _realised_ he wanted to do.

But he did want to. Oh yes.

He wanted to punch Malfoy right in his pointy nose. He wanted to shove him against the wall and hit him. He wanted to show him just how wrong everything he'd done was. But he also wanted to press his teeth into the flesh of Malfoy's shoulder, nip at the scars that might or might not still be under those robes, and just generally touch everywhere he knew he shouldn't want to.

He got as far as the shoving. Malfoy squirmed within his grasp, and Harry grabbed him by the shoulders and tried to hold him still. But then Malfoy let out a hitching little moan, and Harry forgot exactly why he'd been trying to hold him still. He'd wanted to…was it talk some sense into him?

Or had it been something much different?

"Didn't realise you could be so rough, Potter," Malfoy whispered thickly, and that tingling heat went through Harry all over again, hotter, more intense, until his skin had broken out in goose bumps.

Before he even realised it, his fingers were at the collar of Malfoy's robes, undoing the buttons there, and his hands were running down the length of Malfoy's chest. There were scars, yes, mostly faded. But there was one deep, crooked one that ran across his ribs and down past his navel, and Harry lost sight of everything else as he gazed at it.

He ran his index finger over it slowly, watching the way Malfoy shuddered. And then Harry's own robes were coming undone, Malfoy's movements just as rough and brutal as Harry's had been a moment before, and fuck if that wasn't just what he wanted from the other boy.

Malfoy spun him around, yanking the robes down from around Harry's shoulders and shoving them towards the floor as he manoeuvred Harry against the nearby wall. His face pressed up against the cold stone, Harry felt Malfoy's hot mouth alternately sucking at his shoulders and leaving a trail of bites down along his neck and back. And when Malfoy shifted behind him and pressed his exposed front against Harry's back, it was all Harry could do to remain quiet.

He could feel himself getting hard, that hot tingling feeling pooling in his groin and refusing to dissipate. He wanted this, the tension and the force and the sheer fucking energy of it all. And when he felt Malfoy's growing erection pressed into the small of his back before it nestled into the crack of his arse, he knew he was going to get it.

He arched his back and pressed himself against Malfoy, hearing the startled, sharp intake of breath behind him. "Scared?" he asked, taunting while at the same time inviting.

"Hardly," Malfoy muttered into his ear. He dug his fingers into Harry's hips, tight enough to bruise, and bit at Harry's earlobe. Harry couldn't help but moan.

"Then show it."

Malfoy grunted a reply and whispered something only vaguely familiar. Harry felt Malfoy run a suddenly slick finger across his hole, pressing lightly for just a moment as it paused at his entrance. He'd never done this before, never done anything even remotely like this, but oh, how he wanted it. He shivered, squeezing his eyes shut. Malfoy held him tightly against the stone and slid himself slowly in, his left hand pulling Harry back towards him. And when Malfoy moved that hand just slightly and took Harry's cock into its grip, Harry lost all connection with anything that wasn't the two of them.

It hurt like hell, wasn't kind or particularly gentle, but Harry loved it all the same. "Fuck," he muttered, and then Malfoy's hand was full of something slick and stroking him steadily, his grip hot and tight.

He didn't know how long they were connected like that, Malfoy thrusting shallowly into him, his breathing harsh and ragged while he brought Harry closer to orgasm. He just knew he couldn't focus on anything else, take too much time to analyse how they'd come to be here, in this situation, with neither of them using unnecessary and unwanted words to ruin something that was so perfect in its utterly imperfect way.

And then Malfoy was biting at his shoulder, filling him with his release and gasping like he'd never recover his breath, and Harry could take no more. He spun around, only barely registering that Malfoy was fumbling to take him into hand again, to get him off just as successfully as he'd got off. He reached a hand up, threaded it through Malfoy's damp blond locks, and pulled him down.

Harry bit at Malfoy's jawbone, panting as he got closer to his inevitable release, and tangled his fingers deeper into Malfoy's hair. This was for all the fucked-up things in their past, for all the wrong he'd ever done, for the wrong Malfoy'd done, but also for everything they might ever get right. And just before he came, spilling into Malfoy's hand, he pulled the other boy down and kissed him, a long, soft kiss that was returned surprisingly in kind, imparting a level of sweetness to this layer of heat.

Malfoy pushed him away after a moment, eyes glazed and face flushed. Harry wasn't done. He hooked a hand behind Malfoy's neck again and yanked, more gently this time, offering another slow, deep kiss, unsure if it would be accepted.

Malfoy took it, moaning softly into his mouth. Harry felt one of his sticky hands at his back, pulling them closer together until he was pressed against Malfoy, who was now leaning against the wall.

"You wanted this," Harry said quietly, after he'd finally pulled back, but still close enough to run his hands over Malfoy's arms.

"You don't seem too upset about it," Malfoy replied, looking confused. "So unless you had something else on your hands from your work, all that happened is that we both took down the barriers and let our baser desires out to play. Which is interesting in its own right."

"So you _knew_ you wanted this?" He recalled the look on Malfoy's face now, his warning that Harry was going to regret sticking his fingers in his mouth as he locked the door behind them.

"You didn't, I presume? Not that it matters now. What's done is done. The hazelnut will likely be out of our systems by morning. That's almost a pity, to my way of thinking."

Harry hesitated. Oh, he still didn't _like_ Malfoy. But he had his benefits. "You have privacy charms on your room?"

Malfoy's eyebrows raised. "Of course. I'm not exactly popular around here, Potter. I have to be careful. What are you suggesting?"

What the fuck _was_ he suggesting? "Might as well take advantage of this incident while we can. Come morning, we'll see if we can still stand each other."

Malfoy regarded him a long moment. "No promises I won't hex you if I find you still in my bed come sunrise."

Harry smirked. "Just try and beat me to it. I seem to remember being better at disarming and duelling."

Malfoy glowered at him. "Fucking prat." He ran one fingernail down Harry's chest, leaving a raised red scratch there that mimicked the scar on his own chest. "Get your things together. I'll meet you in my dorm." He pulled on his own robes, not even bothering to straighten them or fix his hair. "And remember: you've been warned about the morning."

Harry slid into his robes and ran one hand through his hair as Malfoy left the classroom. "And so have you," he whispered, gathering his things with a small smile. Things might not reach hexing-level, come morning. But then again, they might.

That's what made this fun.


End file.
